Farewell, My Comrade, My Friend
by Lord Chaltier
Summary: Just a short piece of the Champion of Cyrodiil's final journal entry regarding the events of the Oblivion Crisis, and a friend that he lost...


A/N: Just a short little piece of friendship from the Champion of Cyrodiil to his comrade, Martin Septim. I preferred to keep him silent as in the game, so this cut down on a lot of potential dialogue. This contributes alot to the short story. But it's simply something I wanted to write, hope you like it.

* * *

The Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion

Farewell, My Comrade, My Friend

_A story straight out of a child's dreams..._

_A prisoner becoming a hero._

_A hero becoming a savior._

_A hero's triumphs, tribulations, gains, and losses..._

_And the aftermath of those events..._

_This is the story of the Champion of Cyrodiil_.

"Hail, Champion!" An Imperial Guardsman greeted the mighty savior of Cyrodiil, nay, of all Tamriel. The hero gave a welcome nod to the soldier and went on his way.

The Champion of Cyrodiil. He was an Altmer, or High Elf in certain tongues. While his race had originated from the lands of Summerset Isle, he himself was born in the Imperial Province. His birth and childhood unimportant, his true role in the shaping of Cyrodiil's history began that fateful day in the Imperial Prison.

Essentially given a pardon and a blessing by the late Emperor Uriel Septim, this Altmer left the iron shackles and barred doors of the Imperial Prison and set out into the vast wilderness of Cyrodiil's great landscape. Carrying with him a divine artifact of the gods, he knew his destiny was forever changed. While it would have been ludicrously simple to discard the artifact, the Amulet of Kings, and try to scrounge together some form of a life, the Altmer accepted his fate and began that long trek to Weynon Priory, as he had been instructed to do.

"It...it's you! The Champion of Cyrodiil!" An ecstatic Imperial resident exclaimed. "This is such an honor!"

Another nod of his head, and the near silent Altmer went on his way.

It seemed so insane though...how could he, never gifted with the art of the blade, only with the power of the magicka he could focus and discharge from his hands, become this hero? Such a grandiose task was much better suited to a knight, and not a simple mage like him. Would the record books ever even accept this scraggly prisoner as a hero? Was such a feat remotely possible? Perhaps it would have not been, had the Altmer's resolve and determination not been bolstered by the man who would be Emperor...

Pushing open the mighty doors to the Temple of the One, the Altmer took a few steps into the area and affixed his gaze upwards. The sunlight reflected off the statue of the mighty Avatar of Akatosh. It stood in the middle of the temple, a reminder to all of the inhabitants of Cyrodiil, of one man's selfless actions. He who would be Emperor, he who would become divine...

"Greetings to you, Altmer." A familiar voice entered the elf's ears. It was the voice of Tandilwe, one of the keepers of the temple's new icon. "Master Ravean Anteres, come to pay your daily respects?"

The Altmer, Ravean, nodded fervently, to which Tandilwe smiled warmly.

"I am sure he is happy to see you, as usual." Tandilwe said.

Making her way past the High Elf, Tandilwe took her leave of the temple, leaving but the Champion and the avatar of the mighty Akatosh. As the doors closed behind him, Ravean pulled out a small book and a feather quill. It was his journal, a log of his life beginning from the time he had set out for Weynon Priory. Each and every event, while not completely accurate in detail, was logged in this small book.

Pressing his quill to the parchment, Ravean began to record his thoughts. What would perhaps be the final journal entry of the Champion's exploits in the Oblivion Crisis now began to find its way onto the parchment...

_"How many days has it been since that fateful day? The day when the accursed figure of the world of Oblivion, Mehrunes Dagon, showed his grotesque figure in this Imperial City? I can't seem to remember..._

_But, I suppose that's because I am trying to live in the past. You're forever immortalized as this avatar, whereas I will someday die and rot away. My efforts will eventually be forgotten, overshadowed by your noble sacrifice._

_However, do not take me to be envious of such events. On the contrary, I was quite honored to fight alongside you. You were the heir to the throne, I was but a prisoner, but upon those battlefields, we stood as equals. The notions of rank and heritage were cast aside during those dark days. Even now, after all of the fires have been extinguished, after we slowly begin to rebuild this proud city, I am still revered as a hero. But it is a secondary honor to your efforts._

_You were my friend, Martin Septim, and I shall never forget that. Not even when this mortal shell has started to decay will I ever relinquish hold of these memories, the memories of the first person I could ever look at as a real friend._

_You and I were friends, were we not?_

_Of course, you instilled that fact into me time and time again._

_And every time you did, I couldn't help but smile._

_We weren't quite brothers, but we were damn close to it._

_While you always said you could count on my strength, I always thought the same of you. We drew from the power of each other, cutting aside those accursed Daedra upon the snowy embankment of Bruma, and again as we marched on to the Temple of the One. My only regret is that I was not able to retrieve the Amulet of Kings quick enough to prevent Dagon's appearance in Tamriel. If I had, then perhaps this aching pain would not continue to haunt me so._

_Every time I look up at this statue of Akatosh, I remember the day I lost my best friend. But I must remember, had you not made such a gallant sacrifice, then none of us would be here today. All of Tamriel would have been a lifeless cinder by now. That you would give up your life to protect this land helps quell the pain somewhat._

_I only wish that we could have celebrated the victory together, over a vast banquet at the Imperial Palace. Indeed, there was such an event, but I chose to decline my invitation. While we were victorious, I still felt defeated. Trading the life of my friend for peace across Cyrodiil wasn't an easy exchange for me to accept, and is still not, to this day._

_But, as Champion of Cyrodiil, I will do whatever is in my power to help rebuild this scarred province. Whether that process involves the use of my magicka or simply to aide a citizen in need, I will never misuse the title I have been given. Such an action would shame your memory, my dear friend, and that is something I simply can never bring myself to do._

_I don't know if there's any sort of code of honor in the history of Altmer, but if there is not, I will make one right now. You will always have a friend in me, be you this mighty statue, watching over us from the heavens, or in all of us mere mortals. Your struggles, your efforts, all of it will remain with me, I swear this now._

_We will rebuild Cyrodiil, even if it is without the guidance of your family's bloodline. Whether a new Emperor is chosen or the Elder Council continues to rule in your stead, no one who witnessed this dark chapter in Cyrodiil's history will forget the noble cause of the last of the Septim name. The Oblivion Crisis shall forever remain etched within the memories of all Cyrodiil, just as the memories of my friend are etched within my own._

_But, listen to me prattle on and on. You always said you never liked me referring to you as "Emperor Septim," or "Lord Martin Septim." You always wanted me to refer to you as simply Martin._

_**"Please, my friend, I need your support, not your loyalty."**_

_Those words have stuck with me ever since you said them. You never once viewed me as below your stature, even after you had been officially been crowned as Emperor. We still fought alongside one another, equals all around. I don't believe I'll ever find such a friend like you in the rest of my mortal days. Martin Septim, I truly thank you, for being my friend._ _You shall always have the gratitude of this simple Altmer._

_The days pass by without stop, and we all continue to visit this temple, paying our respects to you. The entire land of Cyrodiil itself is forever in your debt. And perhaps one day, once I leave this mortal coil behind, we may meet again. There is much the two of us need to catch up on._

_But until that day arrives, I will simply bid you a fond farewell. A simple gesture to someone who I can simply call friend._

_Farewell, My Comrade, My Friend."_

Withdrawing his quill from his journal, Ravean slipped the document back into the folds of his robe. He then knelt down upon one knee before the avatar and closed his eyes, whispering a silent prayer of Akatosh's blessings...


End file.
